Night Rendezvous
by SPOONS Secret Agent Alice
Summary: Thursday, 1:00 a.m., down the street to the white house with the green roof, open the fence and wait in the shed in the backyard. Don't be late...
1. Courts of Chaos

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**--**

_These curses lurking in our heads but we don't want to find it  
We need to come back down and face what we've become  
Its haunting me  
I'm so alone  
I just wanted to find my way back home  
I'm so alone  
Alone_

_-Bullet for My Valentine_

**--**

**Courts of Chaos:**

Lunch, the time for odd mating rituals, shows of dominance and the occasional band geek to get lost, quivering in fear of never finding his way back to his talentless buddies and being forever trapped in a sea of testosterone, sex, and the stench of last week's tuna melt. Lunch is a chaotic time, a time I choose to spend alone to watch the show safely from the sidelines.

My tray of Thursday's Taco Surprise sits untouched on a table covered in STDs and gum. I sit in a highly uncomfortable navy colored chair, the kind that no one likes, and watch the bouts of anger, lust, and humor as they rise from the depths of the teenage mongrels. It is all very predictable, but nonetheless entertaining.

Lions roar, monkeys snort with laughter, and snakes suffocate unsuspecting freshmen while the King of the Jungle looks on at his chaotic mess of circus animals in amusement. The King sits on his mighty throne, challenging all who dare get in his way. The King is surrounded by his queen and the Court. They are untouchable in this house of horrors, surrounded by an invisible force field that shocks anyone who gets too close. They think they're special, and maybe they are, but all I know is: The King _always_ gets what he wants.

Life in such a tiny town leads to gossip galore when anything, and I mean anything, happens in the town. Bouncing off the cafeteria walls and echoing all around me is news about the two amazing new kids that are going to be joining us here at Forks High School. Oh, joy, two new Spartans to add to my list of mongrels.

Other than the news spreading like wildfire in the cafeteria, it's the same as always. It's the way it's been since freshman year two years ago and it will always be the same until I graduate. Luckily, the King and his Court will be graduating this year and the crown will be passed down to the next in line. The cycle will continue without end until the Earth is nothing but a big ball of dust and there is no hint of remaining human life. It's the way the jungle works and it's the way we live, without it's uniform chaos we would cease to function as a society full of what's hot, what's not, and who's the It person.

It's rough, it's life and there is nothing we can do to change it. The triangle rules our way of life without remorse.

The top is the King and his Court. They rule everyone and they are ruthless to their prisoners. The King is the school's star quarterback, and his queen is the head cheerleader. His Court of men is made up of his closest friends on the football team. Under the Court are the Lords and Ladies, by which I mean the cheerleaders, athletes, and Fashion Forwards. They are the ones who implement the laws and kill any hope anyone has of becoming one of them. Next, are the Peasants. These are the artists, math wizards, and all other groups. They obey the law religiously and flock the Court, hoping to be appointed. And then there's me. The Outcast. I am in a category all my own. I am exempt from the circle of life. I am no one.

I don't mind being an outcast. It suits me. I don't belong with the Fashion Forwards; I could never be able to remember all the different colors for each season. I don't belong with the athletes, with my horrible hand-eye coordination and faulty legs that can't get me over a flat surface without finding something to trip over. And I don't belong with the math wizards, with my hatred for math running deep in my veins. I belong nowhere and I belong somewhere. I belong on the sidelines waiting for someone to come up to bat to challenge the Jungle's pitcher, the ruler on the field, and watch him strikeout with two fastballs and a slider.

Lunch ends and the jungle jumps collectively, throwing out trash and beating each other to the doors to get to their next classes. The others who have stolen away time under the bleachers in the gym will gather shirts, pants, underwear, and collect themselves before leaving unnoticed. Everyday is the same, nothing ever changes.

I walk into Biology after lunch and sit at my desk all alone. Every person in the room has a partner but me and everyone would like to keep it that way, including me. I slump in my chair, waiting for the dreaded bell to ring to signal the time for sleep. My hair is draped over my shoulders to keep my face hidden away from the ugly stares of my classmates. I can feel their stares as they burn into my clothes, threatening to singe my skin.

I sigh, it never changes. Day after day, I am hated by all and for what? Nothing they know of. They are only told lies from the King who wishes to keep me hidden in a small cell and only he knows where the key lies. The evil King deceives everyone and only I know the real him.

I try to shrug away their glances, but it is of no use. I can't shake them from their gaze. There is nothing I can do to deter them from looking at my stringy, oily hair that hangs in my face, my colorless clothes that cover as much of my body as they can, and my sallow skin that's thinner than paper.

The bell shrieks just as the teacher, Mr. Banner, walks in with papers flying around him and his glasses slowly slipping down his weathered face. He slams his briefcase onto his desk and it reverberates around the quiet classroom loudly. He rakes his hands over his face and over the short stubble of hair that covers the top of his head and over the bald spot he cannot hide.

"Sorry class," He says tiredly. He will not offer further explanation for he is a teacher and therefore not held to the same standards. He is above the law and the Court. He is part of the one thing that the Court fears; he is part of the Staff. The evil Staff that's full of teachers that sleep through class, grade papers based on completion instead of accuracy, and the true reason why testing scores are at an all-time low.

The Staff is free from the inevitable laws that catch us at every turn and squeeze us so tightly we all fall down.

They watch over the jungle like humans, watching all the animals. They are too afraid to get close, but strong and smart enough to intervene when necessary.

We pretend to listen while he drones on about the wonders of Gregor Mendel and how he changed the history of science. No one is really listening, but we sit and nod as if we are. He never stops long enough to notice if we are listening and he is constantly turned towards the blackboard with a slender piece of chalk in hand, though it never once touches the board during his monologue.

I am the only one taking notes, as per usual. My hand never stops, writing down everything he says. It's futile, I never study and I always remember everything he says, but it gives my hands and mind something to do. It doesn't let me dwell on the things plaguing my thoughts. I welcome any chance at pushing those thoughts to the back of my mind.

The bell rings. Class is over. The students jump out of their seats and rush to get to freedom. I sit back and take my time. I am in no rush to get to my next class. I stroll across campus to the gym, books in hand. I walk to the locker room to change in the standard uniforms that everyone has to wear. I change in the first stall on the left everyday. It's the only stall I ever change in. Voices bounce back and forth between the walls. I can pick out who's taking whom to the prom and more about the new Spartans joining us next week.

Everyone is talking, except me. I lock my books and school clothes into my gym locker when I'm finished changing and next to me is the Queen. Her name is Rosalie Hale. She is the head cheerleader and the school's favorite person. She's beautiful with her long, velvet golden hair and blue eyes that sparkle like the sea on a sunny day. Her body is long and lean; she looks like she belongs on the cover of a Sports Illustrated magazine. She has this smile that makes you think she is sweet sugar and everyone loves her.

She looks at me and tries to hide the disgust I see in her eyes. She tries, but the attempt is futile. I can see it as it sears into my body. She turns away, her elegantly curled hair whipping behind her as she glides to the doors of the gym. I follow lamely behind her. I'm left in her wake and so no one notices as I trail behind. They are too taken by the perfect Rosalie.

Gym passes with little consequence. I am on my way to my rusty red truck so I can drive home with nothing but my thoughts as they rampage my brain. I get in and start up the vehicle. It's loud and booming, but everyone is used to it. I feel the engine as it rumbles through my chest, trying to overtake me. Rain pelts the windshield and the wipers wipe the drops away so I can see. It is a cycle that repeats itself over and over and over again. Raindrops slam against the glass, it collects and mars my view of the outside world, and then they are gone by one swipe. It's like they were never really there, they were just a figment of my imagination. Unlike him. He is always there, always there.

**-:-**

The house is quiet. Charlie, my father, is at work as the local Chief of Police at Forks Police Department. I do my homework. It's never much; I'm always done in an hour. The work is never hard enough, the work is never time consuming. It's five p.m. I have eight hours. That's not enough time, and yet, it's too much.

I sit and stare blankly at the television set. I see the motions on the screen, but am unable to comprehend them. I don't want to be alone with my thoughts. The silence frightens me and lets the thoughts take over. I won't let them. Not today. I can't. It's going to happen. I don't want to think about it before it does.

At six thirty, I start to make dinner. It's simple. Steak and potatoes with green beans and iced tea. I can't think much about anything but tonight, so I stick with something safe to cook. I take my time mashing the potatoes, trying to get lost in the rhythmic movements. I watch as the clumpy potatoes slowly mesh together with milk and butter. How could three different substances blend to make something so wonderful? It seems impossible. I decide to kick it up a notch and add some minced garlic to the blend of potatoes.

Dinner is ready and the table is set just as Charlie walks through the doorway to the kitchen.

"Smells good, sweetheart." He says as he kisses me lightly on the forehead. I've trained myself not to jump at his invasive movements. He's my father and I love him. He would never do anything to hurt me. Not like _he_ would.

I sit down in my chair. Waiting for Charlie to wash up and join me. My fingers drum impatiently on the hard, brown wood. I try to focus on the repetitive thuds. Thump, thump, thump, thump. Thump, thump, thump, thump. It only dissuades my thoughts for a moment before I am thinking profusely about tonight again.

Charlie joins me. He scoops some of the garlic potatoes onto his plate and spears an especially large cut of steak and plops it on the ceramic. He is careful to grab only a forkful of green beans. He tries to be a good role model and eat all his vegetables, but I know that he hates them as much as a ten year old boy. He pours his glass of sweetened iced tea. The ice clanks in his glass as the brownish liquid transfers to it. Sweat beads up on the sides of the glass, slowly melting into the table.

"So how was school?" He asks conversationally. He lifts his fork to his mouth and shoves a piece of juicy steak inside.

I shrug. There's not much to tell. I went to class, I listened to the teacher, and I did all my work. What more is there to tell?

"Any friends you've been hanging out with?" I hope we don't have this conversation today.

I shake my head slowly. My eyes are trained to look past him so it looks to him like I'm looking at him, but really I'm looking at the wall behind him.

"Bella, you're going off to college in two years and you've lived here all your life. Why don't you have any friends? Don't you want any? Aren't you lonely?" He shakes his head sadly.

I shrug again. I don't want any of those people as friends. They don't want me as a friend either. The lies have kept them away. I've kept them away. I like being by myself. I just hate the silence that comes with it. Anything can happen in the silence.

"Well, Bella, Jacob and Billy are going to come over tomorrow. I know you don't like company, but it's been a while since we've seen them. I think you should be nice and try to make friends with Jacob. When you were little you used to hang out together all the time."

I nod my head like a good little girl and take a small bite of green beans. I chew slowly. It makes it easier when I have food in my mouth. That way, Charlie can't expect me to answer with words.

Billy Black is Charlie's best friend. They were friends before I was born and they are still friends today. Billy's wife died a few years ago, so we haven't seen much of him, and then he was in an accident that left him in a wheelchair for the rest of his life. That means that he is unable to drive a car at all. Jacob Black is his son. When we were little and his twin sisters, Rachel and Rebecca, weren't around, I would hang out with him. I remember us when we made mud pies and when he'd eat dirt. Jacob was always a bit of a gross kid, but he had a good heart. He was also two years younger than me, so that probably made him seem immature in my eyes.

Billy and Jacob live on the Indian Reservation in La Push. It's not that far away, it's about fifteen to twenty minutes away from Forks, but it's far enough away that it keeps us from seeing the Blacks often.

We finish dinner in relative silence. None of us are really talkative, preferring to sit in comfortable silence, but Charlie comments on things that happened at work today. Nothing major, just catching some kids skipping. There's never much crime in the small town, just pranks, kids skipping school, or the occasional traffic ticket.

Charlie excuses himself to go watch television after dinner and grabs a beer from the refrigerator before heading to the living room. I stay behind in the kitchen to clear the table and wash the dishes. I wash the dishes separately and slowly, trying to waste as much time as I can. I wash each dish until every spot is gone. I dry each dish, wiping away all the droplets of water on the ceramic plates and glass cups. I put them away one by one, making sure they are all perfect in their cabinets.

My eyes drift to the clock on the microwave. It reads nine twenty-eight p.m. in neon red block lettering. I have three hours and thirty-two minutes left. My heart starts to speed up and my breathing catches in my throat. I feel locked away in my quiet room. I feel trapped and unable to get free. Why am I like this every time? I should be used to it. It shouldn't bother me anymore, but it does. Every time, I just can't gain control.

I trudge up the stairs into my room to sit on my bed and wait, wait for tonight.

**-:-**

**A/N: Hey ya'll. This is my new story Night Rendezvous. So far I'm really proud of it and I hope you leave a review telling me what you think about it. The story is going to be interesting, at least I think so, and I really hope you favorite and alert it. I promise that I will complete this story from beginning to end and I will update every/every other week. It depends on what's going on during the week. So anyways, please review and tell me what you think. Also if you see any mistakes just PM or review telling me where so I can fix it. :)**

**Ciao, Jenn**


	2. Over Yet?

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**--**

_I see nothing in your eyes  
__And the more I see the less I like  
__Is it over yet?  
__In my head  
__I know nothing of your kind  
__And I won't reveal your evil mind  
__Is it over yet?  
__I can't win  
_

_-Breaking Benjamin_

**--**

**Over Yet?:**

My alarm clock rings loudly when it is finally twelve fifty a.m. I sigh and stand, slipping my feet into my shoes. Sweat beads on my forehead. I can't stop my pulse from racing and I can't keep my stomach from jumping in my throat. I don't want to go, I never wanted to go.

I silently trudge down the stairs. Charlie's loud snoring reverberates through the house as I skip the fourth step from the top to avoid it from creaking. I learned early on that even though Charlie snored like pig on steroids, he is a very light sleeper and that the creaky fourth step woke him up very quickly.

I make it to the front door and I open it cautiously. I step outside in the light drizzle of rain. The door shuts silently behind me and I walk down the front steps, loving the feel of the cool rain as it lightly hits my clothed body. My steps are slow and deliberate. I take my time walking across the damp pavement, looking all around me at the quiet, sleeping houses.

The neighborhood is calm and unaware of what is going to happen soon. They are naïve to the true nature of their golden boy. He looks at them straight in the eyes and wins them over with his dimples and bright, unsuspecting blue eyes. They love him, but they don't know him. They don't know him like I do.

He's harsh and cruel. His eyes are cold and he smiles down at me sardonically while I sit in a defeated heap at his feet, broken and wishing for death. He denies me my wish like always, and maybe it's for the better. Death is an easy way out. He would never have to worry about me ruining his perfect image. Who would listen to me anyways?

I make it to the white house on the corner with the green roof and creep through the wet grass to the back of the house. All the lights are turned off in the beautiful structure as his parents sleep happily through the night. I cautiously open the fence, hoping it won't make a sound. It shuts behind me as I make my way over to the shed on the far side of the yard. The door is always locked shut except for tonight. He always leaves it open for me, but only for tonight.

I walk in; the light in the shed is turned off, for only he is allowed to turn it on. I clumsily undress, taking off my shoes and setting them on the floor next to the door. The shed doors are open to allow the moonlight to help me. My jeans follow as does my shirt and undergarments. Last to go is my watch. I check the time. Twelve fifty-nine, it reads. It's hard to imagine only nine minutes have gone by since I left the comfort of my home. It feels like it's been ages. When my watch strikes one, I peel it off, toss it onto my neatly folded clothes, and shut the shed door. I wait on my knees with my hands behind my head and my dignity stripped away from me. I wait for what seems like a lifetime.

**-:-**

He walks out of the shed door with a satisfied smirk and leaves me to clean up the mess. I have ten minutes before I am punished for taking too long. I hurry with my task, getting dressed and making sure the shed is in order for next Thursday. I finish with three minutes to spare.

I shut the shed door and walk quickly through the grass to the street. There are only a few streetlights; the artificial light makes my skin look sallow as I pass underneath it. I shiver and wrap my arms around my midsection in attempt to keep myself together. It's hard. After every session, I'm left broken and alone to pick up the pieces. He doesn't care about the tears he causes, the pain he creates. All he cares about is his sick pleasure.

I decide to head through the forest before making my way back to the house. I need to be out in the open. I can't be in the confines of my tiny room. It's too soon. Too soon. I walk through the forest with no destination. I just stroll through the green shrubs and tall trees. The trees provide some protection from the light downfall of rain.

The sticks and overpopulation of plants crunch quietly underneath my feet, offering some semblance of comfort in the overbearing silence. I'm so alone in my head. The demons lurking at every corner of my brain threaten to consume me. I won't let them; I try desperately to push them to the farthest reaches of my mind. They still creep past my defenses and pull at the strings attaching me to my sanity.

I sigh and look at my watch. It says it's five in the morning. Charlie will be getting up in half an hour. I head back to the entrance of the forest that leads to my home. It seems as though it was quicker to walk in than to find my way out. I find my way though, my watch reading quarter after five by the time the large, black roof comes in view. A few minutes later, Charlie's police cruiser is visible as it sits on the curb next to the driveway, my worn out truck taking up all the space in the tiny lot.

I walk up the driveway past my truck and up the steps leading to the front door. The door opens and creaks lightly. I cringe, hoping that it was soft enough not to wake Charlie up yet. I have to make it to my room before he gets up. I strain my ears to listen for any sounds that would alert me to his waking. I hear nothing but his intensely loud snores.

I creep through the living room to the stairs, trying to put as little weight on my feet as possible. As I reach the foot of the stairs, I hear the unmistakable sound of Charlie's alarm clock. I freeze momentarily, thinking that this has got to be karma getting back at me for tonight. I sprint up the stairs, skipping the fourth step from the top and dash to my room. I flip my shoes off and get under the covers just as I hear Charlie's padded footsteps in the hall. My eyes shut tightly, trying to pose as his wonderful sleeping daughter, instead of a wretched filthy slut.

Charlie opens my door to check on me and then closes it again before heading off to the bathroom for his morning shave and shower. I wait until I hear the showerhead cut on before rolling out from underneath the covers and grabbing my sketchpad and graphite pencil. I also grab my colors. I sit on top of my bed, layering the pillows so I can sit up and begin to just draw. I don't think about it at all, I let my body take over and create what it wants to create.

My pencil glides across the page, making sharp angles and dark shadows. At the bottom corner of the page is the face of a young woman. Her hair is long and dark. It hangs over her face in oily, clumpy locks. Her skin is a sickly yellow and her dark eyes are filled with fear and resentment. She's curled in a little ball on concrete flooring, illuminated by a spotlight-like coloring. She wears nothing but her pale skin and self-hatred. Above her is the outline of a man. He lurks in the darkness and his face is lost in shadows. He's large, but not much is visible. Except his eyes, those icy blue eyes shine through the shadows and glare menacingly down at the fragile girl. His glare is domineering, trying to whither her away to nothing. An outline of a smirk is noticeable, but just barely.

I can't look at the picture anymore. I sigh and close the sketchpad. I put it on my nightstand next to my colors and lay my pencil on the cover. It is almost six fifteen so I get up and grab a long sleeved black v-neck top and black skinny jeans. I would normally take a shower, especially after Thursday nights, but I stayed out too late and used up all my shower time drawing. I finish my outfit with a pair of black and white Converse. I don't bother to comb through my hair. There is no one I'm trying to impress and it would just tangle in ten minutes anyways. Why waste the time?

I grab my sketchpad and head out my door, grabbing my backpack on the way. I walk to the bathroom and quickly brush my teeth. The minty flavor overpowers my mouth. I go to the kitchen and grab a simple breakfast, an apple. Charlie is sitting at the kitchen table reading the morning paper with a steaming cup of coffee half-way to his lips and a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and bacon sitting in front of him on the hardwood table.

"Good morning, Bells. You'd better hurry on out. Don't want to be late for school, eh?" He chuckled.

**-:-**

**A/N: Okay, so I didn't plan on this being as short as it is, but I liked the ending. Plus, my friend told me I should just stop there, seeing as I couldn't really think of anymore to put. Lol. Anyways, I warmed up to it and now I really like it. So I hope all you readers out there review and tell me what you liked or didn't like and telling me who you think _he_ is. A lot of you think it's Edward and my friend thinks it's Emmett. I think a lot of you are going to be shocked by who he is. At least, I hope you are. I don't want him to be obvious. Anyways, I love reading all of your speculations so I hope you continue with them.**

**And I might not update next week as I am getting surgery tomorrow. I don't know how things are going to be, but I will try my hardest to get it out to you guys as soon as I can. And are any of you guys out there ready for school to be starting? It starts this coming Tuesday for me and I can clearly state that I am not looking forward to it. Lol.**

**Ciao, Jenn.**


	3. Visitation

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Twilight Franchise.**

**--**

_I'm like a ghost  
__I'll be living in a dirt room  
__Waiting for the day to be closer  
__To the window when you're home  
__I'll be standing by your back door  
__Reaching for the knife in my coat  
__I'm going to put it to your throat  
__Sweaty piggy, you're a bad man  
__What a fucking sad way to go  
__Your mother raised you as a joke  
__I should have wiped away a burden_

_-Blue October_

**--**

**Visitation:**

I walk out the front door to my truck after grabbing my raincoat and I climb into the cab. It's rather cold outside, it is January after all. During my time inside, the light rainfall had become white, flurries and my truck had started to collect a thin layer of frost. Ice had started to clutter the pavement and I cautiously make my way to my truck. I make it to the truck unscathed and climb into the cab. It was cool inside the tiny space. I turn on the ignition and crank up the heat to try to stop my shivering.

I pull out of the driveway slowly, not wanting the car to careen into the trees and cause my ill-fated death. The drive to school is quiet, the radio in my truck only has three stations that are fuzzy and in Spanish. I get to school in ten minutes; the parking lot is full of other old, rusty cars that no one cares about. I pull into a parking space in front of the front office and sit with the warm air blasting in my face. It's drying out my eyes, burning them, but I don't want to blink. I can't blink. He's right there, groping the blonde goddess and trying desperately to suck her face off.

He's disgusting and sick. Why can't anybody see that? Why can't anybody but me see that? He's shallow and translucent. He's a horny pig that needs constant attention. I can't stop the angry tears as they furiously trail down my face. I despise him, he stole everything from me, _everything._ He doesn't deserve all that he has. He doesn't deserve anything.

I feel the anger as it bubbles inside of me. It crawls through my chest, begging to be unleashed. It wants to hurt him, show him the pain he causes me. I grip the steering wheel hard, trying to release it calmly. It doesn't work. The anger is desperate to win, desperate to fight. It wants to frighten him, scare him senseless to where he cannot even remember his own name. It wants to kill him, slit his throat and let him bleed uncontrollably. The anger grows into a monster inside of me as he moves away from his Court to the trees and blocks my way to my first class. He catches my eye through the windshield and smiles like nothing is wrong, like he's acknowledging an old friend. My blood boils and my anger overwhelms me.

I angrily get out of the truck, slamming the door hard and causing flecks of paint to float to the ice covered pavement. My eyes are glaring holes into his face, wishing that looks could kill. My backpack is slung over my left shoulder and my hands are shoved in my pockets. I don't want to risk hitting him as I walk by. I close my eyes as I pass and hear him as he discreetly sniffs me. I pause momentarily, confused by his strange actions.

He chuckles under his breath. It's deep and menacing. "I see you forgot to shower. Or are you just too mesmerized by our pleasurable scent to wash it off?" He whispers in my ear. The tree blocks us from the other students and his Court; otherwise he would not dare to touch me like this.

I shiver in disgust at his words. My face contorts into a grimace as my anger swirls underneath the thin layer of control. My fists clench at my sides as he trails his finger down my cheek and neck. He cups the back of my neck with his calloused hand and starts to pepper my neck with tiny kisses.

"I enjoyed last night very much." He says between kisses. "I can't stop thinking about it, about you." His tongue darts out and licks a line up my neck to the back of my ear. "Yum, I can still taste your salty sweat. You're too delicious for your own good." He nuzzles his nose into the back of my neck and in my hair.

He is slimy and makes me dirty. I can feel him turning my skin into bug-infested trash. His compliments fall upon deaf ears and his feelings are not reciprocated. I hated last night and he is the ugliest thing in my world. I want to cry out in anger, in agony. I can't. My body won't let me; it won't let me defend myself. It just stands there and takes the unwanted attention without feeling.

"Hon?" A sugary voice calls out from around the trees. In that moment, he lets my body go and I bolt away. I don't look back; I just walk as fast as possible without running to my first class of the day. I thank her for the opening that lets me flee from him. If I stood there any longer, I would've broken. I would scream out and attack him, never letting up, never giving him mercy. He doesn't deserve my mercy.

I make it to English with minutes to spare before the late bell rings and everyone rushes to get in their seats before Mr. Mason comes strolling in. He is always late to class and he never cares. He gets paid the same amount no matter how well he does his job. Normally, he gives us a task, and then sits at his desk looking at pornography or some equally inappropriate thing on his laptop.

After the assignment has been given, he goes to his desk as always and pretends to do work. We all know he's not, but what does it matter? No one cares anyway. The students erupt in loud voices and giggles as they ignore their papers. The girls gossip about who's dating whom and the latest fashions, as well as talking about people they hate behind their backs. The guys tell crude jokes, comical and appalling, and talk about their latest conquests.

The audacity of it all is rather sickening. How these mere children think they can decide who should be put to death and who should be King is simply uproarious. These so-called "adults" talk about nothing more than popularity and nothing of matters that are truly important, of the matters that control their way of life. They don't care; they live in their perfect little worlds made up of boys, girls, makeup, and sex. They choose not to see the reality of the world and the evils that occur right next door. They know nothing of innocence being stripped away from them without their consent. They know nothing of angry words and body parts being pounded into their flesh. They are insolent, little children that have to have their way or no way at all.

Class ends and no homework is assigned, as usual. I walk across campus to my American History class with Mr. Jefferson. So far, Mr. Jefferson and Mr. Banner are the only two teachers that actually care whether their students learn something or not, although Mr. Jefferson is a little more interactive with his lessons whereas Mr. Banner will just recite paragraphs from the book and expect us to memorize everything that passes through his lips. Mr. Varner is a math Nazi. He doesn't care whether you comprehend anything he says, he just expects you to ace every quiz and test you take in his class. He's strict, tough, and unrelenting. He says in order for us to achieve in life, we have be able to adapt. We have to be able to understand and learn quickly. He never babies us.

Today in American History, we are learning about the Women's Rights Movement. It occurred through 1848 to 1920. Before the movement, women were treated as property and had no right to anything. They couldn't even make decisions for themselves. Their fathers, brothers, or husbands did. They got subjected to things they never wanted to be subjected to. Just like me. How is it that after all this time, women are still being used as property, as slaves to man's desire?

**-:-**

I slam the front door closed and head up to my room. I walk to my bed, pulling one of the smaller pillows to my face before screaming into it. I scream long, hard, and loud. I can feel all my frustrations release through my mouth. I scream until there is no more left to scream. I can feel my face getting red as the once hot tears become cool and refreshing against my heated skin. My scream quiets until it is nothing but a faint whisper.

I hyperventilate until my head becomes light and black spots compromise my sight. I can feel my consciousness slipping away and the luxury of sleep over come me. I welcome it, falling into a deep slumber. My dreams are haunted. He lurks behind every corner. I can never escape him.

I walk through the dream; it's like any normal day. The sky is dark with rain clouds and the air is cool. The pavement glows as the heavy rainfall tries to penetrate it. I walk in nothing but black jeans and a long sleeved black shirt. I shiver as the wind picks up around me. Fat water droplets plop fast and furiously onto my face, blurring my vision and making it harder to see. I don't wipe my eyes; I let the water mar my vision. Nothing I see is flattering. I'm caught in being able to only see one thing, him. He is everywhere no matter where I look. His face is always looking back at me. I can't stand it. I want to gouge my eyes out and never be able to see his face again, but I would still see him in my mind. His face will be forever etched in my brain. I can never escape it.

I jolt awake. My breathing is labored and my heart is racing. My skin breaks out in a cold sweat. I look at the clock. I had only slept for half an hour. I sigh before running my hand through my oily strands and heading downstairs. I get my backpack and finish off my homework at the kitchen table. Mr. Varner had given us ten pages of math homework and I end up taking two hours to finish, but that is only because I went back three times to check all my answers. As much as I hate math, I am rather good at it. I find it easy because all the answers are clear and precise; there are no shades of gray in math.

I decide to start dinner early; we are having guests after all. I start cooking roast chicken, with white rice and fried squash. The chicken is dressed and put in the oven and the rice is cooking on the stove. The fried squash sizzles on the pan. The yellow vegetable is covered with Italian bread crumbs and it looks delicious. The aroma throughout the kitchen is mouth-watering. Today, I am able to savor the foods I cook. I have nothing to worry about tonight. There is nothing that can happen.

Charlie walks in the house as I am taking the chicken out of the oven and finishing up the fried squash. He must have taken off work early. "Boy Bells, this smells delicious." He says as he walks through the kitchen to kiss my forehead. It's the same everyday. He comes home from works, hangs up his coat and gun belt after taking all the bullets out of the gun (I think he thinks I might try to kill myself because I'm lonely), he walks into the kitchen to compliment the scent of my meal, kiss my forehead and give me a small hug before walking up to the bathroom to wash up for dinner.

When Charlie is upstairs, there is a knock on the door. I walk over to the foyer and unlock the door before swinging it open to reveal two dark skinned men. One is sitting in a wheel chair and donning a cowboy hat. Their black, shiny hair is long, reaching to just below their shoulders. The both have huge smiles on their faces and look like twins, except the one on the right has significantly more wrinkles.

"Hey, Bella. Mind letting us in?" Billy asks. I must have been staring too long. I move from the doorway and motion them inside. Jacob pushes his father through the doorway and leads him to the living room. I guess time doesn't make them forget the floor plans of our house.

"So Bella," Billy begins, "How's school been?"

I know I have to answer. There is no way to get out of it. I open my mouth to respond.

"Hey, Billy! How've you been?" My father bellows from the top of the stairs. He takes them two at a time and does this weird high five/handshake with Billy.

"Things have been rough lately, but it's been getting better." Billy smiles. "How about you?"

"Things at the station have been pretty boring, but I can't complain." I've never seen Charlie this enthusiastic. I guess he really missed his best friend.

"So Bella, here, is seventeen now? And a junior? How's school been going? Do you have a lot of friends? I bet you do with looks like those." Billy laughs.

I force a smile before looking at Charlie to let him know dinner's ready. "Oh, yum, Bella's cooking is delicious. You have to taste it." Charlie says as he ushers them into the kitchen.

The table is set for four and everyone sits in one of the mismatched chairs. I sit between Charlie and Jacob and Billy sits on the other side of Charlie. Conversation flows throughout the meal. Charlie asks Jacob a lot of questions and he blushes at their comments on how strong he looks. Apparently his strength is from restoring old, nasty cars into old, less nasty cars that still smell like tobacco and feet.

I remember when I got my truck a year ago. Jacob had restored it and left it in our driveway. I remember looking at the bulbous cab and rusty, chipped paint thinking this is what a restoration means? I thought he would at least repaint it so it didn't look so decrepit. Then, I got in and gagged at the stench of tobacco, feet, and spearmint. The mixture did not bode well for my poor, sensitive nose. I spent a week trying to Febreze the stench out from the seats and I even put a clean linen scented air freshener in the car. It still has the faint smell of feet lingering behind the clean smells.

I try to sit and not bring any attention to myself as dinner continues. I don't feel like talking and it doesn't seem as though they even know I'm here. That is, until Jacob starts to talk to me.

"So, Bella…hi." He says nervously. He blushes softly and I think it has to do with the lameness of his sentence.

I nod in his direction, acknowledging his attempt at conversation.

"Did you like your truck?" He asks hopefully. I didn't want to say no, that would hurt his feelings and besides, I have come to like my truck a little bit. It had character, even if the person driving it doesn't. I nod with a passive look on my face.

"Yeah…" He trails off, not being able to think of anything else, but desperately trying to keep the conversation alive. I will not contribute; I do not want to talk. I just want to finish eating and go to bed.

Billy sees his son's struggles and offers to help him out. "So, Bella do you have any friends? Any boyfriends perhaps?" He asks unashamed.

I stuff food into my mouth and shake my head no, answering for both the questions.

"Why not? You're sweet, intelligent, and beautiful, any guy would be lucky to have you." He presses on.

I shrug with food still in my mouth. I want the conversation to drift off of me. I don't want to talk about myself anymore.

"Come on, Bells," Charlie says, "There's gotta be someone out there you like."

I sigh after swallowing my food. "No one has caught my eye yet." I say quietly. My voice is rough from disuse. I take a long sip of my water to wet my dry throat.

"Well, I'm sure someone will come around that you like." Charlie says clearly looking at Jacob. They always wanted us to be together when we got older. They thought we'd make the cutest couple and that when we got married and had lots of Native American little babies, they'd finally be related and have grandchildren. Too bad that wasn't going to happen. I saw Jacob as nothing more than a little brother who got on your nerves more times than once.

Finally the conversation is once again about fishing with Harry Clearwater, another family friend on the Reservation, and I can finally excuse myself to go upstairs. Only one hour of sleep in forty-eight hours can make a girl dog tired. I trudge up the stairs and hear the talking and laughter move from the kitchen to the living room, probably to watch some baseball game on television. I can hear Charlie talking about the Mariners stats and chances at making it to the World Series.

I shut my door and gather my pajamas, which consist of a baggy t-shirt and long sweats with holes in them, and head to the bathroom. I am in much need of a shower and I long for the hot steam to relax my muscles.

I take my time in the shower, making sure to wash every ounce of him off my body and away from my hair. I wash myself three times to ensure cleanliness. The droplets of water pelt my back furiously. The repetitive motion feels good against my tense back. When the water starts running cool, I decide to get out. I wrap a fuzzy towel around my body and another around my hair. I wipe the steam off the mirror and turn the faucet on. I brush my teeth. I finish drying off my body and put on my pajamas. I take the towel off my hair and slowly comb through all the knots and tangles.

When I'm finally done, I walk to my room, hearing the shouts and cheers from downstairs coming from all three males in the house, and shut my door behind me. I plop on my bed and fall into a restless sleep where I dream about the many ways I can harm the man who harms me without a second thought.

**-:-**

**A/N: So, how was this chapter? Is this story too boring? I'm afraid that it might be. So please, please let me know and I'll see if I can make it better. I love this story and I really hope to make it so all of you do as well. Review and make me smile :). Surgery has really put a damper on things and I've been really upset. I can't walk or anything. I need help all the time and that sucks for a person as self-sufficient as I am. Review even if you're saying "great story" and that's it, though I would prefer constructive criticism and what you liked so I can make this a great story.**

**Ciao, Jenn**


	4. A Brand New Friend

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

**--**

_You've got a friend in me  
You've got a friend in me  
You've got troubles then  
I've got 'em too  
There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you  
We stick together we can see it through  
'Cause you've got a friend in me_

_-Randy Newman_

**--**

**A Brand New Friend:**

I awake on Saturday morning well before eight o'clock. Today the sun is shining and birds are chirping. I can hear Charlie snoring through the thin walls of the house. My eyes squint against the bright sunlight coming through the glass window that has no curtains. The tree next to the window does nothing to block away the sunlight; it still streams through the branches. I rub my hands over my face and breathe out noisily. I get up slowly and pad my way to the bathroom.

I do what I normally do on the weekends: I brush my teeth, make use of the toilet, and get ready for work at _Newton's Olympic Outfitters_. I get dressed in the shapeless, too large maroon polo with _Newton's_ embroidered on the left side right under the collar and the unattractive Khaki pants. I look in the mirror and see the rat's nest that is my hair and decide that I need to be professional for work. I comb my hair and pull it away from my face into a high ponytail. It's then that I see his mark on the juncture of my neck and collarbone.

He knows not to mark me, but he does it anyways. He loves to see that I belong to him; he loves to know that I'm under his control. It's slightly faded so I decide to just let my collar hide away the ugly bruise. Thinking about it, I can feel his mouth on my neck, sucking hard on my skin. I feel him force my head to the side, allowing him better access. His fingers threaded through my hair, pulling at it roughly. He nips and licks, his tongue swirls around spreading his acidic saliva all around my neck and clavicle.

I shake away the memories and toss on my work shoes. They are white tennis shoes that are the most uncomfortable shoe I have ever worn. They have no arch support and they squeeze the sides of my feet.

Charlie is still sleeping. It's the only day of the week that he ever sleeps in. On Sundays, he wakes up an hour before dawn so he can go fishing with Harry. Saturdays are his luxury days where he sleeps in until one, eats nothing but grilled cheese and leftover pizza with beer, and watches reruns of The Golden Girls when he thinks I'm not around. I always chuckle to myself when I walk into the living room and see him fumble with the remote to try to change the channel before I can see Estelle Getty's character say "Picture it…" in her whimsical way.

I go to the kitchen to grab a breakfast bar and sigh in annoyance when I am met with nothing but an empty box. I look in the bread box and see one last slice of the banana bread I had made Wednesday after school. I grab a napkin and place the slice of bread on it. I grab a bottle of water from the refrigerator and head out to my truck, a messenger bag slung over my shoulder. After work I always go to the diner and sit in a booth, watching the unassuming patrons.

The ride to Newton's is less than exciting. My truck slowly ambles its way down the road, loud and obnoxious. As I reach the store, I notice the large white van in the parking lot. It's the same one I see park next to my truck at school everyday. It's Michael Newton's van. Well, it's his parents, but they gave it to him a year ago.

Michael Newton is the best friend everyone wants to have. He is kind, loyal, and pretty smart. He's much like the companionship of a golden retriever. Not to mention his hair is the same color as their fur. He has bright blue eyes and you never see him without a smile on his face. All the mothers in the town swoon over his incredible manners and are envious because of the fact that their kids are juvenile delinquents.

Mike is a hard worker and he never slacks off on his shifts. We never talk at school, but at work he tries to make conversation. We don't talk much, but I don't mind his company every now and then. It's nice that he doesn't ignore me all the time. He tries to be nice to me at school, but his girlfriend, the spoiled Jessica Stanley, is very overprotective. It doesn't help the fact that she listens to all the rumors and has a reason to hate me.

At school, I am known as the boyfriend stealer, slut, and druggie. I guess they are right about my being a slut, but I would never disrespect a couple. I never did drugs either, unless you consider birth control and Advil as drugs, but it was his way of keeping people away from me. Lucky for him, his plan worked.

Mike doesn't really believe all the rumors, but he has to be careful about his reputation. I understand, although he never says it to my face. At least his heart is in the right place.

I open the glass door to the store and I am welcomed by the chimes that greet everyone who walks through the door. The store has a musky scent, reminiscent to that of the woods. It is very fitting. I walk to the front desk and grab my bright orange apron from behind the counter. The apron looks like that of _Home Depot's_ and it's quite the grotesque piece of clothing. The orange is neon and covered in spots with dirt. My copper nametag is placed right over my heart and already pinned to the orange monstrosity.

I hear Michael's mother, Karen Newton, in the back of the store presumably on the phone and talking rather angrily. "I don't…No, I told you not…Quit interrupting me!" I decide to tune her out.

"Hey, Isabella, what's up?" Mike pops up out of nowhere.

"Just fine and dandy." I smile sarcastically. He doesn't notice.

"That's cool. So, looking forward to the tourist season coming up?"

Not particularly, but that means that we are that much closer to the seniors' graduation which means no more him. "I guess."

"Hello Isabella. How are you today?" Karen asks.

"Fine. You?" I say shortly.

"Wonderful." She grimaces. It probably has everything to do with that phone call earlier. "Anyways, could you go in the back and get the new shipment and organize a display for them?"

I head towards the back where we keep new shipments and extras. It's also where we keep the larger equipment that we can't display in the store. I see three large boxes that are full with the new shipment.

I busy myself taking the three large boxes one-by-one the front of the store near the registers and design a display that will hopefully attract customers to buy them. I don't see how it will. I mean, they either want it or they don't. I don't see how the way they are arranged can make up a person's mind, but it's not for me to decide so I do as I'm told.

Three long hours pass before I am finished. Karen tells me to man the register after I am finished. I do, and I sit for the remaining five hours staring at the clock opposite me on the wall. I watch as the minute hand slowly creeps past each notch and the hour hand seems as though it is never moving. It is frozen in time, showing me the length at which I waste the day away. I want to fall asleep right there at the counter, even though I had a rather good night's rest. I guess Thursday night is catching up to me.

No matter, I stay awake and not once did someone come through the door and alarm us to their presence with the annoying chimes. Sometimes I think _Newton's_ will go out of business because of the lack of customers that stroll through for most of the year, but somehow it still manages to stay open with money still left in the bank. I guess having tourists running rampant through the store during the late spring and early summer seasons is enough to keep the business up and running.

Not that I mind. I need a job after all. I need the money I get from working here to pay for college. I want to go to college out of state in order to get away from the place that holds no good memories for me. Sure, I'll miss Charlie, but I can always talk to him over the phone or visit for the holiday seasons if he'd like. I just can't stay here any longer. The memories are too painful. The memories of him, the memories of my mother, I just can't stand it any longer.

"It's only one more year. You can hold on for one more year." I whisper to myself quietly so only I can hear.

Just then, the chimes ring and a tall man with light blond hair come strolling through with a little girl looking no older than fifteen next to him. She's very short and has the craziest hair I've ever seen. It's chin length and it spikes in all directions with the black as the base color and hot pink, purple, and neon blue streaks that blind the eye. I feel as my eyes widen in shock. Never had I seen a person in Forks with such colorful hair in my life. My jaw drops momentarily before I quickly shut it with a snap. Luckily, they are looking away from me and didn't see my discomposure.

The man turns to me and I take notice to his warm hazel eyes. They are filled with mirth and crinkly in the corners with his smile. His smile shows straight, bright white teeth. His face is clear of any imperfections, except with the occasional thin wrinkles that just add character to his face and he looks like he belongs in a magazine ad that's selling toothpaste.

"Hello. Could you help us? We need some new hiking boots and we figured we get them now so as to get a feel for the town." He said with his smile still intact.

I am amazed that someone could be that happy. He must be doing it for appearance's sake. The girl turned to me and I see that she, too, has a kind smile on her face. Her eyes are the same color as the man's and I gather that he is her father. She has short side swept bangs that cover half of her right eye. She also has black eyeliner encircling her eyes and a smoky brown eye shadow that make her eyes just pop. Her nose is small and turns up just slightly at the tip, making her look just like a little faerie. She has a fragile beauty that makes you think she's a little glass doll.

She's wearing a dark purple v-neck top with three-quarter sleeves and a black mini skirt with black and purple striped leggings. She wears a pair of black flats on her tiny feet. I sigh inwardly at how shockingly pretty she is.

I also realize that I have never seen these people around town before and with the size of Forks, I have met everyone and their grandparents…twice. They must be the people who moved from Chicago. We were supposed to have a new doctor, a Dr. Carlisle Cullen, his wife, and their two kids move here. Charlie had been talking about us going to their house next weekend for dinner as a welcoming to our little town.

Apparently Carlisle and his wife are the biological parents to one child, but not the other. I wasn't really paying any attention to the gossip or to Charlie so I don't really know anything about them other than that.

"Sure. Follow me." I say quietly with my head down. Normally, I work in the back when it was tourist season and when it was definitive that I wouldn't have to deal with customers. I hate talking to people and I do much better not dealing with them, but today I had to be courteous and do my job, no matter how much I despise it at the moment.

Upon reaching the hiking boots section of the store I asked them a question. "Do you know your sizes or would you like me to get the measurer?" My voice was barely above a whisper. I am surprised they could even hear me.

"No thank you. I think we can manage." He says with that damned smile still on his face.

My lips quirk upwards in a polite manner and I turn away from the two of them. "Wait, Isabella!" I hear a chiming voice call out.

I turn instinctually. "Yeah?" I ask.

"I was just wondering if you could tell me more about the town." Faerie Girl asks with a giggle. "We just moved in yesterday and I'm so lost around here."

My mouth opens then shuts. I don't want to have to talk to her. I never do well with words. They just aren't my thing. She misinterprets my silence.

"Oh, well, I'll just ask someone else then. Thanks." She says, defeated.

"No, um, it's fine." I clear my throat. "There's not much to tell. We only have one road and you have to use the highway to get to school and we only have one market. And if you want to shop at all, you have to go to Port Angeles which is about an hour drive."

She laughs, thinking what I said was a joke. Her laugh is light and breezy. It reminds me of wind chimes and the beach and fluffy white clouds. It's happy and easy. "Well, maybe you'll have to come with me to help me get to Port Angeles." She looks excited.

I shrug, not knowing how to answer. "Do you need anything else?"

"No thank you, Isabella." Carlisle responds.

I nod and walk back to the front desk. I sit in the quiet; I can hear the faint whispers of Carlisle and his daughter. I rest my head in my hand with my elbow leaning on the counter. My other hand snakes up my chest and rests on the nasty blue and purple mark. It tingles at my touch. I hate the feeling.

I get lost in the memories of Thursday night and jump at the sound of Faerie Girl tapping on the counter bell. My head shoots up and my eyes lock with hers. She's smiling again, the corners of her eyes crinkling with delight.

"Earth to Isabella," She giggles.

"Sorry," I mumble. I grab their boots and ring them up. The total price for both pairs is two hundred fifty dollars and fifty-seven cents. He pays exact cash, my brows lift in surprise. I take the money and put it in the register as Faerie Girl starts to talk again.

"So Isabella, I was wondering if maybe we could hang out sometime." She says hopefully. Her eyes are wide with innocence and she has her tiny little pale hands intertwined under her chin with her pink bottom lip jutting out.

I'm shocked by her forwardness. I'm not used to people being so kind. She also looks so adorable that I just can't say no. "Um, sure." I respond lamely.

"Great. Why don't you give me your number so I can call you? Hey when do you get off work?" She says quickly.

I take a sticky note from the counter and jot down my number. I hand it to her as I say, "I get off at five."

"Oh, cool. That's only in a half hour. Hey, could I just hang out here and we can go get something to eat at wherever it is people go here?" She asks me, but while looking at her father.

"I see no problem. Is that all right with you?" He turns to me.

"It's fine." I answer with a tiny smile.

"Awesome." Faerie Girl giggles. "Oh, silly me, I forgot. I'm Alice." She sticks her hand in my direction.

Alice. It's a nice name, a clean name.

I hesitantly shake her hand. "And you can call me Bella."

**-:-**

**I'm so, so, so, so sorry. My laptop shut down and when I started it back up I couldn't find any of my files and I mean ANY of them. I couldn't even get my homework which was freaking me out, but luckily it wasn't due 'til today and last night my dad finally got my files back. I'm also out of my wheelchair. Yippee! I'm so happy. Now I have to wait 'til mid-December to be able to do sports. Hopefully the surgery was worth it. **

**Anyways, so I think it gets a little better in this chapter and next chapter is even better. I told once I got past these first couple that it would get better and faster. I just needed time to set up the story. And in the next chapter you guys get to find out who the King is. Awesome, right? Lol, so give me a review, letting me know how this chapter was. Thanks for reading!**

**Ciao, Jenn**


	5. The King

**Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight.**

_--_

_I can't think of a song that works with this chapter. _

_If anyone has a suggestion, let me know in a review:)_

_--_

**The King: **

Work flew by with Faerie Girl—Alice—there to talk my ear off. I welcomed the buzz of her voice. I couldn't tell you what she said, but I liked that I didn't feel so lonely anymore. It wasn't nearly as quiet. She didn't make it hard to not talk. She pretty much talked about her old life in Chicago and before they moved there, Miami.

Miami sounded nice. Tropical beaches, sunshine all the time, lively streets where there was no silence. I would be as far away from him as possible. I could easily find myself dreaming about living there. I would love it.

We are currently in my overused truck driving to the diner and Alice is complaining about how old my truck was.

"Bella, you need to get a new car. This one died twenty years ago." She says with distain.

"Sorry," I respond lamely.

"And these seats are uncomfortable. Is there a spring poking my ass?"

"Possibly," I find it hard to keep the smile out of my voice at her discomfort. She seems so out of place in my truck. It's quite comical.

"Okay, so where are we going?"

"The diner,"

"Oh, do they have good food?" She asked cautiously.

"I guess."

She shrugs and looks out the window at her surroundings. She seems surprised there could be this much green around her. Chicago was windy with large skyscrapers that marred the view of the bright blue sky and Miami was all blacktop with beaches and palm trees that were stoic in the humid air and whipped wildly in the many hurricanes.

She loves the quaint streets of Forks compared to the flamboyant streets of Lincoln Park in Chicago. She tells me how she hated the many maids and nannies that came in and out of her home while living in Miami. She was glad that her parents decided to spend more time with their family and less time at work or hosting parties.

She also tells me all about her brother, a quiet and brooding boy by the name of Edward. He was adopted by Carlisle and his wife when he was four years old and Alice was just two. His parents were lost in a boating accident off the shores of South Beach. He kept pictures of them in his room even though he didn't remember much about them. She wouldn't tell me anything else about him, saying it was only his business to tell. I wondered what she meant by that, but I didn't ask.

We make it to the diner just after she finishes a story about the time she was eleven years old and at South Beach and how she and Edward made an elaborate sand castle just to have some "oversized, bald man with a horrific sunburn in a too small Speedo," trip and fall on it, his half melted superman flavored ice cream landed smack-dab in Edward's face.

I laughed and nodded in all the right places. My mind was too preoccupied with getting to the diner and leaving as soon as possible. I'm tired and all I want to do is eat and go to bed.

We walk in; the air is musky and familiar. It's one of my favorite smells in the world. The musk is blended with coffee and apple pie wafting from the kitchen in front of us and the seats are alive with all sorts of customers. I see some kids from school, and I see some teachers as well. All are with friends or family and sporting smiles or immersing themselves into their food. The diner had great food and was cooked by the one and only Maxwell DeLuca.

Maxwell DeLuca is my mother's cousin and when she left, he taught me everything I know about cooking. I would spend hours upon hours with him in that very kitchen watching with rapt attention on how to bake the perfect apple pie or cooking the finest chuck of beef.

We walk over to the bar and sit in the tall stools. Alice has to jump in order to reach the seat. Coral Grant, the oldest waitress in the diner comes over to us from behind the counter.

Coral's mother was a young Swedish woman and her father was a dark man from Jamaica that met in California. Coral hated the big city life and traveled all the way to Washington for the small town life. Her mother modeled for many magazines like "Elle" and "Vogue". Her mother taught her how to model and Coral was even in a few magazines when she was younger.

Coral still holds her exotic beauty through her growing age. Her skin is a dark night in spring, but her eyes are the day sky clear of any clouds. Her pupils are dark, but are the sunshine of her soul. She always has a smile on her face. As she should, she goes home to a wonderful man that loves her and is visited frequently by their many sons and daughters.

"Hiya darlin'. How are you today? And who's this? You've never brought a friend with you before." She smiles her large and welcoming smile. Her teeth shine brightly against her blackened skin.

Alice sticks her hand out. "I'm Alice, Dr. Cullen's daughter. We're new here." Alice states like no one knows. _Everyone_ knows.

Coral shakes Alice's hand delightedly. "Well, it's mighty fine to meet ya ma'am. So, the 'Bella special'? It's on the house today."

"Ooh, Bella has something named after her? What is it?" Alice asks excitedly.

"It's a chocolate shake with French fries and a bacon, lettuce and tomato sandwich. It's the only thing she orders when she comes here. We just started calling it the 'Bella Special'."

"That sounds yummy. I want that." Alice grinned.

Coral smiles, her slight wrinkles accentuate through the dark skin. She ran her fingers through her black, curly hair and wipes her hands on the dampened washcloth that seems to be a permanent fixture to her uniform before turning to the kitchen and yelling, "two "Bella Specials'!" over the loud clanking in the kitchen.

I faintly hear a deep, suave voice ask if I was there. Coral chuckles at his enthusiasm. "The food will be ready in a moment, lovelies."

"So, Bella, enough about me, tell me about you. I talk too much for my own good." She smiles.

"Well, I'm a junior at Forks High." I offer.

"Really? Cool. I'm going there. I'm just a lowly sophomore though." She grimaces.

"Of course you're going there. It's the only school, other than the school on the Rez, that's anywhere near here." I chuckle.

"Okay, okay. So what else? Do you have a boyfriend? Ooh, I bet you do." She giggles happily.

"Um, no. No, I don't."

"Darn, well, I bet this year is going to be great. I can just feel it." She says as if she's already seen it.

**-:-**

Max comes out with two plates of food and Coral is right behind him with our milkshakes. My mouth waters at the smells wafting to my nose.

Max's dark, Johnny Depp-styled hair is covered by his toque. His lithe frame is donned in white. His rich chocolate eyes gleam with happiness. It's as if he's not seen me in years when, in fact, it has only been a week.

"Bella Bella," He says in his smooth, accented voice.

He was born in Florence, Italy and studied under the finest chefs in all of Europe. He loved to cook and loved to teach me everything he knew. When I was five, he moved here to be closer to my mother. They were inseparable when my mother lived in Italy and he had missed her very much. He only got two more years with her before she left.

My mother had become very close to the man who owned the flower shop just outside of town. She said he was teaching her about the different flowers so she could grow her own garden. I should've known better, but I was only six. She was gone a lot, never saying where exactly. Charlie had faith in his wife though, too much faith if you ask me. He thought she loved him and that she would never do anything to hurt him. That was before she left me in the house all by myself to run off with the flower shop guy. She left without even leaving a note.

Charlie freaked. He thought she had been abducted. He went back to the station and alerted the police stations nearby. My mother caught wind of it all and all she did was leave a message at the station telling Charlie to leave her alone and to never contact her. She called from a payphone in Las Vegas and she didn't even say anything about me. It was as if I had never existed. It was then we realized Phil the Flower Shop Guy wasn't anywhere to be seen either.

It broke Max's heart, but it was nowhere near the pain my father went through. Charlie couldn't eat for days. He couldn't even look at me. He said I reminded him too much of what he'd lost. He blamed himself for it all. Saying if only he'd been a better husband, she'd still be here. He was the best, though. He did everything for her. He bought her flowers for no reason at all, and he'd always whisper sentiments of love in her ear. He was the best father, too. He took me out and taught me how to ride a bike. He took me to school every morning and he was there for me when I broke my arm falling out of that tree when I was nine.

Max puts the plates in front of us and hugs me tightly to him. My arms instinctually wrap themselves around him. "You look more and more like your mother everyday." He whispers in my ear.

He doesn't know how those compliments hurt me. How I wish I looked nothing like her. She was a terrible person and I never want to see her. She isn't worth my time. But I know how Max loved her. To him, it's a blessing that I look like her, that she hasn't left him completely.

He pulls away and I smile.

"Wow, this is delicious!" Alice ruins the sentimental moment by yelling with a mouth full of sandwich.

Max chuckles deeply. "Grazie, Signorina. Only the best for my Bella and her friend."

"My compliments to the chef," She says after swallowing. "I'm Alice,"

"A pleasure, Signorina Alice. I am Signor Maxwell DeLuca, but you may call me Max."

I look into his eyes and I see my mother. He and my mother look as if they could be twins, the same thin face and the same delicate nose. Their eyes, their eyes are mirror images with the same spec of blue right near the pupil. Their olive skin is the same sun-kissed brown. It's the one thing I didn't inherit from my mother. My pale skin is the skin of my father, though his is healthier.

"Okay, now Alice, this is the only way to eat the French fries." I say to brighten my mood. I pick up a fry and dip it into the chilled chocolate. I bring the fry to my lips and let it land on my tongue. The salty sweetness mingles with my tongue. I look at Alice and see the look of disgust on her face.

"Oh, come on, just try it."

She shakes her head violently. "Just one?" I plead.

She sighs and reaches for a fry, dipping just the tip and quickly putting it in her mouth. She chews quickly, trying to get it over with. Her eyes are shut tight and the grimace is still on her face. Max and Coral are giggling over her antics. And then she starts chewing slower, savoring the sweet and salty, the hot and cold. The contrast between the two is so wonderful; it takes her taste buds on an adventure. Her eyes slowly open and her grimace fades. She cocks her head to the side, as if wondering how two things so different could come together to make something delicious.

"I guess it wasn't that bad." Alice finally says after she swallows.

"Uh-huh." I agree, knowing that she thinks it's better than she says.

Hanging out with Alice was the first time in a long time that I actually felt a little bit happy.

**-:-**

The vicious cycle continues. It is Monday. I sit in English, watch the clock tick down until the bell rings. Alice asked me if I would sit with her at lunch and I would be a liar if I said I'm not a little bit happy. Everyone listens to him and never wants to befriend me. I'm glad to start over with someone who hasn't heard the rumors. Too bad she will have by the end of the day. I bet she'll never want to speak to me again. She might not even want to sit with me at lunch today. I know she changed her mind.

Finally, the bell rings and I bolt from my seat. I make it to Spanish. There aren't enough kids taking Spanish for there to be an AP class so all the kids who could be in it just stay stuck in Spanish IV. They get extra work though and are always called upon because they should always know the answers. Unfortunately, I am one of those people. And it doesn't help that my cousin once removed is Italian and speaks it with me everyday. Señora Goff is a nice teacher though; a little too exuberant about foreign language though.

Spanish is easy enough. Being fluent in Italian has definitely made it easier. Conversationally, I'm great in Spanish. It's the spelling that I have trouble with. I always spell the words in Italian. I like foreign language though so the class passes quickly.

The rest of the morning classes pass on and it's finally time for lunch. I still have hidden hope that Alice will want to sit with me. I walk through the double doors and the smell of curdled milk and baked beans overpower my senses. I look among the yelling crowds of people for Alice, but I can't see her. My happiness is slowly fading away into fear. Fear that she's heard the rumors and is too disgusted to even look at me.

My face drops to the floor and I slowly make my way to my regular table. I knew it was all too good to be true. There could be no way she would want me as a friend after what she's sure to have heard. I feel the tears as they try to push themselves over the edge. I pull back a seat and sit down, dropping my bag to the floor and laying my head on the disease-ridden table.

I sit there for a minute and a half before I hear the scraping of the chair next to me and the slam of a lunch tray.

"Damn high schoolers," I hear Alice mumble.

My head shoots up in shock. She's not running from me yet?

She slumps in her seat violently and crosses her arms over her chest. A blue piece of her hair falls in her eyes and she huffs at it. It just falls back in her eyes. "Why are people such jerk-offs?" She asks me.

"I don't know," I respond truthfully.

"I can't believe some of the things I've heard today." She says outraged.

"What have you heard?" I ask cautiously. I'm sure most of it's about me. I wish it weren't, but it probably is.

"You are nothing like they say you are." Alice looks me in the eyes. I want to look away, but her hazel coffee eyes captivate me. "They say terrible things about you. Don't you know?"

"I am, unfortunately, aware of such notions." I respond bitterly.

"Why don't you say something? You shouldn't have to take this. A girl, a senior named Roslyn or Rosemary or something, told me that I should stay away from you. She said awful things. I couldn't stand the nerve of her! I told her to keep her pretty little fake nose where it belongs and to let me be the judge of who's what."

My heart drops. "Alice, why? Why get the Court mad at you? You have a chance of being one of the Ladies of the Court. Don't ruin your life just because of me."

"Court? Lady? What are you talking about?" She asks confused.

"The school. That's the way it's run. Everyone belongs to a group, a stature in the hierarchy of Forks High School. You could be a Fashion Forward or you could become a cheerleader and you would be a Lady of the Court."

"What are you?" She asks curiously.

"I'm the outcast." I say simply. I have learned to embrace my role in society. I welcome it.

"See?! Don't you see how they treat you? You don't deserve this. You are so nice and my best friend. I don't care about them."

I look at her. Best friend? How is that so? We've only known each other for three days. Is she my best friend? She is my only friend at the moment, but that could change. She could realize that it's not worth tarnishing her good name.

"Alice, don't worry about it. I'm used to it. Don't let it bother you so much. It doesn't bother me." I try to calm her fueling rage.

"How can I? It's not fair to you."

"Life's not fair sometimes, Alice."

"Ugh, you are way too nice about this. If I was you, I'd give them a piece of my mind." She says, but she's calmed down a bit.

"Well, you're not me and I'm not you so let's not worry about it." I smile.

She shrugs and looks at her tray in disdain. "What the hell is this?" She asks, poking the white and brown blob on her tray with her spoon. It sinks into the flesh of the blob.

"I believe they were trying to make mashed potatoes with gravy and someone sneezed into the mixture." I say with a small laugh.

"So who's that?" She asks pointing to the King. "He's with that Rose girl so I bet he's bad news."

I nod my head, knowing she doesn't know exactly how true those words are. "He's the King." I answer simply. "And Rosalie is his Queen."

"What's his name?"

"Royce King. Fitting isn't it?"

**-:-**

**A/N: So yay! Now we finally know who the jerkweed is. Haha. Someone mentioned him in a review, but they also mentioned ten other people he could be so I'm hoping I kinda caught ya'll off guard. Well, I hope you guys are happy with the development and that you keep reading. Have a wonderful Thanksgiving if ya'll live in the U.S.A. And happy Thursday to everyone else :)**

**Ciao, Jenn**


End file.
